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BEIJING — I have been visiting the Asian Gods in their colonnaded mausoleums and wondering what they think of the societies forged in their name. How these Gods fare will be a core 21st-century question.
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First, in Hanoi, there was Ho Chi Minh, worldwide wanderer (including a spell in Brooklyn), impish nemesis of French and U.S. armies, unifier of an independent Vietnam, “Uncle” to the nation; now embalmed despite his wish to have his ashes scattered. My 15-year-old son, in good Brooklyn slouch mode, was reprimanded for having his hands in his pockets and so showing insufficient respect.
I don’t think he’d ever seen a dead body before, certainly not one preserved for four decades. The Vietnamese guards mistook awkwardness for attitude. A God in bloodless flesh is an idea that takes getting your head around.
Then, here in a glacial Beijing, on a bright morning in Tiananmen Square, having walked past a McDonald’s outlet, I found myself alone with Mao Zedong, the Great Helmsman and Teacher, looking a little more florid than Ho. As there was nobody else around I thought I’d linger, but a gua